


it's simple (it's us)

by mynameis_not_cathofaragon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Background Enjolras/Grantaire, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Cosette Ships It, Cute, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Italicised Oh if you know what i mean, M/M, Oblivious Combeferre, Pining Combeferre, and other relationships bc i can't help myself, if i dare say so myself, it gets sappy at the end, she has like three lines but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameis_not_cathofaragon/pseuds/mynameis_not_cathofaragon
Summary: "He’s known Courfeyrac for longer than anyone else, and he’s always been that way. Cuddling, hugging, hand holding, he’s used to it, especially with Courfeyrac. Which is why he cannot understand why he suddenly feels awkward, flustered even, with Courf’s casual touches."...or; Combeferre is oblivious, Courfeyrac likes physical contact, and everything works out in the end.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	it's simple (it's us)

The thing with their friend group is that boundaries, while utterly respected, are few. Bahorel, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Cosette are all highly tactile people, and even if the others don’t initiate the contact, rarely has someone rejected it. 

Combeferre knows this, he enjoys it, in fact, it’s one of those things that simply remind him of the Amis, and that he loves. Furthermore, he’s known Courfeyrac for even longer than anyone else, except Enjolras, and he’s always been that way. Cuddling, hugging, hand holding, he’s used to it, especially with Courfeyrac. Which is why he cannot understand why he suddenly feels awkward, flustered even, with Courf’s casual touches. 

The first time he notices this change, they are walking back home from the Musain. It's cold, windy, and Courf is talking about this fight he saw a couple have that morning after one of his classes, his voice rising dramatically at times as he gestures wildly. Combeferre is watching him a smile; there’s a glint in Courf’s eyes whenever he gets excited, like now, that never fails to bring him a happy feeling. 

Courf stops himself as a breeze hits them. He scrunches his nose, shivering slightly, before grabbing one of Ferre’s hand in his own and putting both in his pocket. Squeezing his hand, Courfeyrac smiles at him, apparently pleased with the extra warmth, and resumes his tale, gesturing only with his other hand. 

Combeferre feels himself startle, though Courf doesn’t seem to notice, heat spreading over his cheeks. He keeps his hand in Courf’s as they keep walking, but a small shiver runs through it, and he can’t meet his friend’s eyes for a second. By the time they reach their apartment he’s back to normal and it doesn’t feel any different to other times they’ve held hands, but the moment of awkwardness is still present in his mind. 

It happens more times. When they are in a meeting, Courf growing restless nearing the end, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingers. At movie nights, Courf laying his head on Ferre’s shoulder, or hiding his face in his chest as he sobs at the movie. At the apartment, Courf draping himself over Combeferre on the couch. 

Similar to that first night, Combeferre is struck with weird self-consciousness for a second, before responding, whether it is by wrapping an arm around Courfeyrac, running his fingers through his hair, or simply patting his back. Touch is Courf’s love language, he knows this, he just can’t for the life of him comprehend why it suddenly feels different. 

* * *

Combeferre thinks about telling Enjolras, or perhaps Éponine or Cosette, but ultimately decides against it. He's not sure what he’d even say, honestly, that he feels uncomfortable around one of his best friends? That's not exactly true, and could be misinterpreted, so he keeps quiet. It's most likely nothing, if it were to became an actual issue then he’ll ask someone. 

In fact, he even manages to forget about it at times; such as these. To celebrate a successful fundraising event –or rather, using it as an excuse-, Courf had suggested a party, something everyone agreed on; now, after some drinks, Bossuet suggested they play spin the bottle. 

Combeferre is hesitant, not for himself, mind you, but because, even if only Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet are officialy together, several of his friends are in love with, or at least somewhat attracted to, each other. Grantaire has been in love with Enjolras for ages, that much is obvious to anyone but the leader himself, who, in fact, has a thing for the artist as well; he isn’t sure what’s going on with Baz and Feuilly, it actually may be nothing, but he’s noticed some looks between those two lately; something similar happens with Éponine, Cosette and the weird tension between them. It seems as if the only unattached ones are Marius, Courf and himself, as Jehan told them recently they’ve been seeing one of Éponine’s friends. 

Despite his concerns –which naturally he doesn’t voice-, everyone readily agrees to the game, even if Enjolras mutters something about not being in middle school anymore. As they settle and Bahorel chugs down the last sips of a bottle to use, they also decide that the kiss can be anywhere, and those who don’t want to kiss or be kissed, can take a shot instead. 

As the game progresses, Combeferre finds himself relaxing. So far, Cosette has kissed a blushing Marius on the corner of his lips, Enjolras has kissed Feuilly’s cheek, Chetta and Joly have made out for almost a minute, Grantaire has pecked Jehan, and a few shots have been taken, though those were mostly to change up the pace. Sure, there’s been some glares and blushing, but nothing notorious. 

That is, until Ferre spins the bottle, and it lands on Courfeyrac. It wouldn’t be the first time they kiss at this dumb game, though the last time that happened was at least two years ago, if not more. And yet, a knot in his stomach is quickly forming. 

“What’s your choice, Ferre?” Cosette ask, sweet as ever, a shot ready in her hand. 

Uncertain, he looks at Courf, who’s exaggeratedly making kissy lips at him. While the tightness in his stomach doesn’t go away completely, it does disentangle considerably at the familiarity of Courf’s antics. Fondly rolling his eyes, he leans forward. 

“I’ll pass the shot, I suppose.” 

Courf smiles brightly at him, leaning as well. “A wonderful choice, mon cher.” 

Combeferre was expecting a peck on the lips, but instead Courf, similarly to Cosette, kissed his cheek, very close to the corner of his lips but not quite there. He is rather shocked by the disappointment that overcomes him, so much so, that he barely pays any attention at whatever happens afterwards. 

It is only when he is in bed later, his mind drifting into unconsciousness, that he comes to the realization that he not only had been counting on Courf kissing him, but had been hoping for it. 

* * *

It becomes a thorn in his side after that, all thoughts of the uneasy feeling he had whenever Courf touched him all but forgotten, replaced by thoughts of Courf kissing him. 

It is rather distracting, and just a tad infuriating. 

Objectively, Combeferre has always known Courfeyrac is hot, honestly, all of his friends are, in their own ways. He doesn’t want to kiss anyone else though. 

He knows, once again, objectively, that Enjolras is probably the most attractive of their group, with his unapproachable, ethereal, marble beauty, or however Grantaire had described him once. But when he thinks of kissing Enjolras he immediately rejects the idea, as with literally everyone else. When he thinks of kissing Courfeyrac, on the other hand... 

This would likely be a good moment to talk to someone. 

The opportunity for doing so presents itself one night that Courf is out of town, visiting his parents for the weekend, when Enjolras shows up at their apartment with ice cream. Combeferre knows him well enough to understand he wants to talk about something. 

And talk he does. He found out about his –rather obvious to everyone but him- crush on Grantaire a while ago, but has been too afraid to do anything yet, so Combeferre patiently hears him wax poetic over the artist. By the time he seems to be wrapping up, his hair is messed up from running his hands through it repeatedly, and half their ice cream is gone. 

“You could just ask him out, you know,” Ferre says gently for what must be at least the tenth time. He loves his friends, really, but god, are they all dense. 

Enjolras looks at him as if he was crazy. “I _cannot,_ ” he declares. “We’ve barely reached the ‘friends’ stage, he’ll tell me to get lost!” 

Letting his head fall in his hands, Enjolras groans. Suppressing a sigh, Combeferre rubs circles on his back for a few moments. They've had variations of this talk several times the last couple of weeks, so he tries to think of a new approach, and perhaps get Enjolras to finally realise that Grantaire is just as smitten as him. 

“Wouldn’t it be better then to ask him quickly? Rip the band-aid off?” He suggests, “That way you will be able to move on if he says no, which he won’t.” 

Enjolras lifts his head to, once again, send a bewildered look his way, before shaking his head. 

“No, I can’t do that, Ferre.” He pauses for a second, his expression softening, a light sadness shining through.” I can’t lose him, we’ve worked too hard to build a somewhat friendly relationship for me to fuck it up with my stupid feelings.” 

As his friend lays his head on his lap with a sigh, Combeferre running his fingers through his hair sympathetically, something sparks in his chest. It feels like recognition, a realisation, although his head doesn’t seem to get the memo, as he can’t quite grasp exactly what he is realising. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about him,” continues Enjolras, “Whenever we’re arguing I sort of just want to kiss him and shut him up.” 

The pressure in his chest grows, but he ignores it in favour of Enjolras; he can deal with his own stuff later. 

“Perhaps not while he’s talking, but after a date seems like a good moment for a kiss,” Combeferre offers. 

He forgets to ask Enjolras’ advise on his little Courfeyrac situation that night. They discuss what to do about Grantaire –that is, Combeferre tries to get Enjolras to just ask him out while he pines- some more, and by the time he remembers he even wanted to ask in the first place, Enjolras is gone. 

* * *

They are all at a club about two weeks after his talk with Enjolras. Clubs aren’t usually Combeferre’s scene, but he can go now and then and have fun. Everyone is either drinking or dancing, and Combeferre is happy to just sit and watch his friends for now (he knows someone will drag him to dance at some point or another, and he’d rather be at least a bit tipsy before that). 

He can see Éponine and Cosette trying to make Marius dance with them, Enjolras looking wistfully at Grantaire, who is dancing with someone he doesn’t recognise, Bahorel and Bossuet doing shots, Joly next to them, and Jehan and Musichetta bringing them all some colourful drinks. Feuilly takes a seat next to him, but he can’t see Courf. 

“Everything okay?” Feuilly asks over the music, concern showing in his eyes. 

Ferre nods. “I just can’t find Courf.” 

His friends point somewhere in the dance floor. “I think I saw him around there a few minutes ago.” 

He follows his hand, and indeed, there’s Courfeyrac, dancing and laughing. Warmth finds its way into Combeferre’s chest, a smile appearing involuntarily at the sight. Soon, though, the smile fades, as he sees Courf isn’t alone; in fact, not only is he dancing with someone, but also kissing them. 

Beside him, Feuilly whistles, chuckling. He says something, probably praising Courf, but Combeferre isn’t really listening, even if he does make some sound of agreement. 

(He doesn’t notice, but his face shows a gesture remarkably similar to that of Enjolras as he looks at Grantaire.) 

* * *

Combeferre may be smart, but it takes him a few more weeks to understand what’s happening. 

Enjolras is late to the meeting, something that never happens, and so is Grantaire, something that happens often enough. The weirdest part comes when, after they arrive together, Enjolras can’t seem to concentrate on the matter at hand. Finally, Combeferre takes over to finish, and no sooner has he done so, than Courfeyrac asks what everyone suspects. 

“You two are finally together then?” 

Both leader and cynic say “yes” with no hesitation, followed by everyone loudly cheering and congratulating them. 

Amidst this, Courf appears at Combeferre’s side, a pleased smile gracing his lips. He rests his head on Ferre’s shoulder wordlessly, and there’s that shiver again. By this point, it has become an almost pleasing feeling, tingles that turn into a warmth that settles in his chest. 

_Oh_. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that their friends finally got their shit together, which subconsciously reminds him of his last talk with Enjolras. He'd known since then, he supposes, but he hadn’t taken the time to really ponder over it. 

It doesn’t matter when he realised, doesn’t even matter when it started –not that he thinks he’d be able to pinpoint that either, he suspects-, what matters is that, somehow, Combeferre is in love with Courfeyrac. Fuck. 

* * *

Combeferre is not prone to panicking, he’s known as the one amongst the Amis that can keep calm in most situations. Luckily, this seems to be one of them. 

They all stay for longer than usual after the meeting, celebrating Enjolras and Grantaire; Courf keeps close to him for most of the night, but Combeferre manages not to let his new revelation show in his demeanour. Surprisingly, he also manages to fall sleep quickly after when they get home. 

It is Sunday the next day, which means that Courf goes for brunch with Jehan; Ferre has never been more grateful for their tradition. The apartment is silent, perfect for thinking, so he makes himself a cup of tea and sits in their small balcony. The city beneath him isn’t as quiet, but the noise fades away as he loses himself in his thoughts. 

At the realisation that he loves Courfeyrac, that he’s _i_ _n love_ with him, Combeferre is weirdly calm. Although it isn’t weird, not really. Courf is his best friend, they know each other better than anyone else, except Enjolras, he’s seen his best and his worst, he’s been with him through highs and lows, if there is anyone he could fall in love with, that would be Courfeyrac. 

Loving Courf is easy, too; he knows it even if he’s only been aware of the fact for a few hours. What's not to love? Courf is their centre, back when they were only the two of them and Enjolras, and now with all of the Amis; Enjolras may be their leader, Combeferre himself the one to keep them on track, but it is Courf the one that brings them all together, he’d do anything to make sure his friends are well and happy. He is kind, and _good_. Yes, most of his jokes are terrible, and he has an annoying tendency to leave empty mugs all over the apartment, but his opinions and suggestions are insightful and thoughtful, and he’s always in a good mood, laughing or smiling. 

Oh, his smile. Ferre would do anything to ensure Courf never stops smiling. It is impossible not to smile back when he’s doing it, his happiness is so contagious. His smiles are wide and bright, mirth shining through, laughter often not far behind. And then there’s his other smile, the one that he seems to save for when it’s just the two of them, late at night cuddling on the couch, tears drying on Courf’s cheeks because they just saw one of those movies he insists they watch even though he always ends up crying, but it’s fine, and he looks up at Ferre and smiles that small, soft smile, or when they stay up until sunrise, and they sit in their balcony, watching the night fade into day, the city under them calm in the early morning, and Ferre looks at Courf, finding his gaze as smiles blossom on both their lips. 

It baffles him that he didn’t realise sooner how far gone he is for his best friend. It feels natural, right, to love Courfeyrac; perhaps it is for that very reason: it is simply how it’s meant to be. Jehan would maybe call them soulmates, Grantaire would maybe say the universe has nothing to do and they chose each other; he doesn’t care, however, whyever, they could theorise for years and not get an answer. No, what is important is the fact, and the fact is that Combeferre is in love with Courfeyrac. It is somewhat comforting. 

When Courf returns from his brunch date, he finds him there, eyes unfocused, unfinished mug of tea, long gone cold, by his side, a serene expression on his face. 

“Hey,” he says as he takes the other seat. “Are you alright?” 

Combeferre turns slightly to look at him better, the corners of his lips turning upwards. “Perfectly.” 

There’s that smile again, sending waves of warmth to Ferre’s heart. _I love you_ , he wants to say, _you are amazing, and I’m so in love with you I cannot believe I didn’t notice sooner_. He doesn’t. There'll be occasion for that later, but for now he’s content to simply enjoy some time together. 

* * *

Turns out, there won’t be occasion later. It's already been two weeks, and Combeferre still hasn’t gotten around to confessing his feelings. Why, he couldn’t say; it just seems like no moment is good enough. Besides, he’s in no rush, now that he’s accepted it. 

That being said, he’s growing antsy. It's not like he’s worried their friendship will be ruined, even if Courf doesn’t return his feelings, he’s certain they’ll get through it; they must, their relationship is too important, too good, not to fight for it. He isn’t worried about Courf’s feelings either, he’s heard enough of Enjolras’ concerns that Grantaire wouldn’t feel the same, and he doesn’t want to let himself go through something similar; there is as much of a chance Courf likes, loves him, even, as one that he doesn’t, and he’d prefer to hear it from Courfeyrac himself rather than make assumptions. 

But he can’t wait forever for a moment to present itself. Combeferre has always avoided procrastination as much as he could, rarely leaving for tomorrow what he can do today; usually, he’s able to complete whatever task needs to be done, but this one proves to be harder. 

He finally admits defeat and resolves to ask for help. Enjolras is a no go; even if he hadn’t been attached to the hip with Grantaire lately, he’d probably be of little help in such a matter. The obvious choice in anything involving feelings is usually Courfeyrac himself, but naturally he’s not an option either. Jehan would probably be helpful, but they aren’t the best at keeping secrets sometimes, and they could let it slip to Courf before Combeferre has the chance to say it first. In the end, he calls Cosette. 

“I recently found out I‘m in love with Courf and I need help telling him,” he tells her, feeling the slightest bit of warmth rush to his cheeks. 

They are at a cosy little café, there’s enough noise around them for a nice sense of privacy, but without it being annoying. Cosette doesn’t seem surprised at his admission, barely raising her eyebrows as she takes a sip of her tea; when she puts her cup down, there’s a small smile on her lips. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Combeferre points out, frowning. “Am I that obvious?” 

Cosette shrugs. “Not really, but it makes sense. You two are kind of married already.” 

Combeferre thinks about it for a moment. They do have some habits couples usually have, and people have confused them for one in the past. Indeed, for him to love Courf is just natural. 

At his silence, Cosette puts a hand over his arm gently, concern showing on her face. He shakes his head, a smile beginning to form. 

“You’re right.” 

She smiles back at him. “So,” she says,” you need help confessing how you feel.” 

“Yes.” 

She hums. “Courf likes big gestures, drama, but that’s not really you, and I doubt he’d want you to do something you aren’t comfortable with.” She pauses. “Perhaps something you guys already do, but make it special.” 

“The sunrise,” he mutters under his breath, the idea coming to him quickly, not loud enough for Cosette to hear. Yes, it could work, what’s more romantic than watching the sunrise? He smiles brightly at Cosette. “Thanks, I think I got it.” 

She chuckles softly. “I’m glad I could help.” 

* * *

Combeferre’s plan is simple, with little margin for error. On Saturday morning, during breakfast, he suggests a movie night, just the two of them, to which Courfeyrac happily agrees; he only has to make sure they stay awake until dawn, and then he’ll confess his feelings in a direct but sweet manner. 

Of course, he doesn’t count on Bossuet having an accident falling down the stairs and breaking his arm, thus sending all of them to the hospital to check on him. All things considered, he’s pretty well, and it’s not the worst he’s had, but the experience drains them all, so that night not even thirty minutes after the movie has started, both Courfeyrac and Combeferre fall asleep on the couch. 

Combeferre wakes up after a couple of hours, feeling weirdly cold, and he realises they fell asleep cuddling, but now Courf isn’t with him. He finds him out in the balcony, leaning on the railing. The night has already become day, even if it is quite early still; they missed the sunset, and with that, his plan. 

Courf turns around, likely having heard him approach. His eyes are a bit drowsy with sleep, his hair fluffy in parts, plastered to his head in others, and he’s smiling softly, almost lazily; Combeferre can’t remember ever having seen someone more beautiful. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks as Ferre goes to stand next to him. 

_Your_ _absence_ _did_. “No.” 

Courf doesn’t say anything, but makes a humming sound. He inches closer to Combeferre, lays his head on his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. Almost on instinct, Ferre wraps an arm around his waist, resting his head over Courf’s. He remembers the night at the Musain, his realisation of his feelings for his best friend, their position now a mirror to then, and suddenly the sunrise doesn’t matter that much anymore. 

“Courf,” he begins, his voice low, the words coming slightly slower than they would if he hadn’t just woken up, “there’s something I need to tell, have been meaning to for a couple of weeks, actually.” 

Courfeyrac lifts his head, turning his body so they can face each other, his eyes now wide open. Combeferre’s arm is still around him, and wants to leave it there, oh, how he wants to, but he forces himself to take a step back, to give Courf some space, in case his feelings are not welcomed. 

He’s no Jehan, no Enjolras, talking is not his second nature, and part of him is terrified, but even so, right now, it isn’t hard to find the words he needs; no flowery language, no carefully constructed sentences, just a few words that are so big, so important, yet come so easily. 

“I love you,” he states, his voice steady and his gaze fixed on Courfeyrac’s. “In fact, I am wholeheartedly in love with you.” 

It’s simple, natural. It's them, it’s how It's meant to be, or perhaps is how they make it to be. Around them, the world doesn’t stop spinning, the sky doesn’t fall, the people in the streets beneath them go on with their lives; this moment is so utterly monumental as it is completely insignificant. It's them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Courf and Ferre, it’s them and nothing else, and it is perfect. 

Courf tilts his head to the side, the beginning of a smile appearing, hopeful, confused, wary. “Why did you never say anything?” 

“I didn’t know,” Combeferre admits a bit sheepishly. “I only recently realised it.” A pause. “Perhaps because I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t even remember what it is like not to.” He doesn’t say the last part with certainty, because he himself isn’t certain when it even started. But it’s fine, Courf understands, of that he’s sure. 

Courfeyrac takes a step forward, his smile widening, expression softening. “I love you as well,” he says plainly. It's the truth, it’s easy. 

His eyes fall to Combeferre’s lips, as if asking permission. Taking the hint, Ferre brings one of his hands to cradle Courf’s face, the other settling once again on his waist, as Courf brings his arms to rest over his shoulders. 

Their first kiss is incredibly gentle, lips barely pressing against each other. Combeferre is glad he left his glasses on the coffee table, though, as they would have probably ruined the moment. Some moments later they pull away, only to press their foreheads together, wide smiles forming on both of them. 

Later, when they are both cuddling in bed –and sleeping arrangements now that they're together are something they’ll need to talk about later-, Courf says, “I’ve been aware of my own feelings for you for months, you know? But I was afraid it would ruin our relationship.” 

Ferre tightens the arm he has wrapped around him, and kisses his forehead. “I feared that as well, but nothing will keep me apart from you.” 

Courf reaches to peck him on the lips. “I know. I love you.” 

There's a shiver down Combeferre’s spine again, a warm flutter in his chest, but this time he knows why. “And I love you.” 

It's terrifying, and exciting. It's completely new, and so familiar. It’s grand, and simple. It's extraordinary, and the only way it could have gone. It's fantastic, and true. It's Courf, with his kindness, his antics, his terrible jokes, his wide smiles, and it’s him. It’s them, and it’s perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> i meant to include more cuddling and domestic fluff at first, but i kinda forgot? sorry about that =(


End file.
